The Diary of Bess Jones
by Beth4
Summary: Bridget has a little sister. Name: Bess. She's a lot like Bridget
1. Bess Jones

Disclaimer: I own nothing from B. J.'s D. I just have no real life, and this is what I do in my spare time. Please don't sue.  
  
  
The Diary of Bess Jones  
  
Jan. 1 ~ Tuesday7:35 A.M  
  
Weight: 60 pounds (Surely NOT! 130 pounds - must pray will never reach 140 pounds - cannot be like Bridget.)  
  
Alcohol Units: 1 (but it's so early)  
  
Ciggis: None! (Aha! There is one thing I can overcome that Bridget cannot)  
  
Note #1: Telephone Bridget - ask her for old single-life relics of hers. (the black book with all those old phone numbers of the sexy men who decided to drop her is a good example.)  
  
Note #2: Never answer the phone at 1 A.M. again. - Lord knows what Sean will do next.  
  
(Ringing of my telephone) (Fumbling for the phone)  
"Em?"  
"Bess?"  
"Sean, what in God's name do you think you are doing? Do you have the faintest idea what time it is?"  
  
Sean - part of my own little urban family (they don't ask me how my love life is, one up against my real family)  
Sean is a movie producer's son who spends most of his time following up on calls to Tabloid, Magazine for Busybodies (and he calls himself a journalist.) He also likes to get in trouble with the Bobbies - usually spends one telephone call on me. This call usually occurs around one o'clock in the morning, during one of my many good dreams about being a member of Monty Python.  
Yesterday, I was dreaming I was a witch with the ability to turn men into newts for short periods of time.  
  
"Yes, I know, but, Bess, I need you."  
"You never need me. You need a good lawyer on retainer. Call Renee. She should know a few good ones." I was three centimeters from hanging up when I heard him yell my name.  
"Bess! Please, I, uh, need you."  
  
I have to big a heart for my own good. Bullocks.   
  
"Hmm, well, what did you do?"  
"Who says I did anything?"  
"Goodbye, Sean."  
"No! All right! I, um, tried to bribe this Bobbie."  
"You deserve prison."  
"Well, I heard this station took bribes, and I was trying to prove the theory, but I got arrested instead."  
  
It is stupid things like that, that make me want to unplug the bloody phone at night.   
Perhaps I should ring Renee, however.  
Renee - another member of selective urban family who spends most of her time typing things for a lawyer who pays her with "bubkis peanuts." She is also a Yank who came here three years ago and still has yet to master all of the Brit Language:  
Knickers - Lifts - Tarts - Vicars - Bobbies - I don't think I need to go on.  
  
Note #3: Surprise Mum by showing up at her annual New Year's Day feast.  
  
If I SURPRISE her, she won't have time to set me up with some forty-year-old divorcee.   
  
Look at what that's done to Bridget - she's practically a bloody smug married! Must take it upon myself to never allow that to happen to me.  
  
11:35 P.M. ~ Same day  
  
Item #1: In response to Note #1, discussed previously. Bridget got a case of the giggles.  
  
- Perhaps something about her being happy not to be one of the dreaded singletons anymore.  
- Or, perhaps it has something to do with her bloke, that Darcy creature.  
  
Item #2: In response to Note #3 - have failed miserably. For one, Mum seemed to be expecting my surprise visit and took the liberty of introducing me to all the bachelors at the party. This included three divorcees with bushy hair, and one bald-headed bore.   
  
Also, Mum set out a "lovely" dress on my bed. Hmm, I was not going to come down wearing a carpet. No, thank you. I came down wearing a black miniskirt and a white blouse. Mum was quite stunned. My duty was done. Then, I had another duty- the "sisterly" one. I had to meet Mark Darcy: v. v. v. bad.  
  
"Come along, Bess. Let's see if Bridget and Mark fancy a gherkin."   
  
Gherkins - the highlight of Mum's idea of sophistication.  
  
I was led over to a cozy corner where my sister and her fiancé were standing; drinking something I wished I had had before coming over.  
Bridget was the one to speak first, "Oh! Bess! This is Mark Darcy, a top barrister..."  
I, v. rudely, even for me, said, "I know all that. I do watch the news, thank you."  
Mark smirked. (Hate men that smirk - makes them look, well, snobby) "Hello. You must be Bess. I've heard a lot about you."  
  
No, he hasn't. If he had, he would have known not to engage in conversation with me and expect me to actually be polite.  
  
"Yes, that's right." I spied some drinks. Wanted one v. bad then, but would not risk getting my ass anywhere near "Uncle" Jeffrey.   
"Bridget tells me you're a social worker."  
"Yes, a counselor, really, for smug married couples who find themselves stuck in a marriage with no individual identities. Sadly, I cannot save them all. Some actually stay married."  
  
It has long been my strong belief that when one becomes a spouse, one gives up her own individuality and ceases to be the person she used to be. Poor Bridget Jones. Soon, she will become Mrs. Darcy, of Mark & Bridget. She's giving up her former life for a lawyer. I shall see them across the hall in Kevin's office some day.  
  
Mark did not seem too amused with my joke. Really, I counsel children of broken homes who aren't particularly taking the divorce well.   
  
"Yes, well, I'm sure you'll never see Bridget and I..."  
  
I stopped listening. Any man who doesn't know proper English should not be listened to. (He should have said "Bridget and me." Idiot who's going to turn my sister into a smug married."  
  
"... Do you suppose it's time to eat, then?" the Idiot was saying. I nodded, not wanting to give away anything else, like that I think he's completely wrong for Bridget.  
Now, I overhear Mummy say to some fellow, "Oh, Bess is planning to settle down eventually. All she needs is the right man."   
  
I almost stated that I had the right man - I just wasn't getting married - ever. I would not give up my individuality for anyone, even Miguel.  
Miguel Diaz- Spaniard who moved here last year- also perfect boyfriend. Although, the month I wanted to finally introduce him to my family, he is away on a business trip. He works at a bank and travels all over Europe for potential or real clients.  
So, Mum continued introducing me to divorcees the rest of the party. Even if I did get married, I wouldn't marry anyone Mum introduced me to. I'm not like Bridget.  
  
Bess Jones 


	2. The Worst 24 Hours

January 2, Wednesday  
  
Weight - Same as yesterday. I expect, since I never eat Mum's cooking - her gravy looked somewhat alive.  
Alcohol units - none - I'm at work. I don't really want to get sacked over Vodka.  
Been one month without ciggis. Impressive.  
  
8:30  
9:00 am: meeting Jonathan Harris.  
BD: Straight A student never got into trouble.  
AD: Failing most classes and lit his neighbor's dog on fire.  
Hmmmm: Plan of attack is necessary - maybe get him talking by telling him about the time "Little Bess" lit a couch on fire. Of course, I was 22, drunk, and dealing with a v. bad breakup.  
(It was the cad's couch)  
  
5:00 pm: HOORAH!! Miguel is coming home - must surprise him by coming home early to make wonderful meal.  
  
1:00 am: Expect another call from Sean - apparently, he's still searching for Bobbies who take bribes. V. bad.  
  
  
January 3, Thursday  
8:30 am.  
- Has been worst 24 hours of my entire life  
  
#1: Jonathan Harris is, apparently, suicidal. v. bad. v.v.v.v.v.v.v.v.v. bad. And, I am supposed to help him - have never dealt with a suicidal kid before. This could very well get me sacked.  
  
- Actually, I might have to quit because of the depression I am in here, now.  
  
#2: Was threatened to be sacked if things didn't go well with Jonathan Harris.  
  
#3: Miguel came home v. early - in order to surprise ME with candle-lit dinner. v. romantic.   
  
Beautiful Spanish music filled the room. Also, v. romantic. Well, we kissed, fooled around a bit, and decided to save desert for last. :)  
We were halfway through dinner when he said, "I was thinking."  
  
v. bad.  
"About what?" I asked, trying v. hard not to freak out.  
"About us."  
  
v.v.v.v.v.v.v.v.v. bad.  
Am panicking now.   
Forget not freaking out.  
  
"Well, em, what about us?"  
  
In dreadful need of a cigarette.  
Have stopped eating by that point.  
  
"I've been offered work in Paris. I want to go."  
  
Oh, God. In danger of losing the one Spaniard I have ever loved to France. Bullocks.  
  
"Are you breaking up with me?"  
He looked surprised at this. (He had stopped eating too.) "No! Of course not!" He paused a moment. "Bess, I wanted you to come with me. I love you." He pulled out a little box.  
  
v.v.v.v.v.v.v.v.v. bad.  
  
"Will you marry me? He opened the little box.  
  
Have lost ability to speak.  
Dead silence consumes the room.  
Cannot hear the music anymore.  
Heart pounding.  
Breathing shaky.  
  
Suddenly, the Bess part of me (As opposed to the Jones part of me) took over. "No."  
"What?"  
"I can't marry you."  
"What?"  
"I can't leave England! I'm not going to pick up and leave my whole life just for you! I can't do that!"  
"Bess, this is supposed to be true love!"  
"I'm sorry, Miguel. I'm not getting married to you or to anyone else."  
He got up and threw his napkin on his plate. "It might just work, Bess." He picked up the ring. "You may not get your heart broken, but you'll never find true love, and you'll never be happy. Have fun now, Bess, because you're going to die alone."  
Then, he stormed out of my flat. And, I'll never see him again.  
  
#4: Sean called again at 1 a.m.  
I was dreaming I was the grim reaper."  
"Em?"  
"Bess!"  
"Who the hell else would it be?"  
"Yes, well. I need you again."  
"Bugar off, Sean!" I hung up.  
He called me later to tell me he spent the entire night in a jail cell with a chap named Henry. Sean said that Henry liked to be called "Henrietta" instead.  
I told him I was going to unplug my telephone tonight.  
I'm taking a few weeks off. I'll give Jonathan Harris to someone else.  
  
Bess Jones 


	3. Urban Family

January 4th Friday  
  
11:35 a.m.  
  
Weight: 135 pounds (have replaced Miguel with food)  
Alcohol units: 6 (going on 7)  
Ciggis: 2 (it's early)  
  
Drinking has become my only way to hide from the drab reality that I just ruined the one relationship I've ever wanted to last. Have decided to become a zombie. I think I'll write an advice column in Sean's "magazine." Ask Bess Anything About Your Life - But do Stay Away From Hers.  
  
(5 minutes and 2 drinks later)  
Have just finished the old box of cereal I keep around for Mary-Anne. Lovely cereal. I bet the cardboard taste even goes away after 12 drinks. I'll have to try it at lunch.  
I am so bloody miserable I could join a smug married cult - except that I'm not married - which bring me back to the point that I am in fact, v. miserable. And, I cannot give in.  
He USED to understand that I NEVER wanted to get married.  
And what does he do?  
The bloody idiot asks me anyway! I WAS happy. And, I am hardly ever happy enough to admit to being happy. And, I'm so drunk that I'm beginning to wonder if my happiness ended BECAUSE I admitted to myself that I was, indeed, v. happy. My drunken self is a v. confusing thing.  
O, bugar. The phone is ringing.  
  
11:50 a.m.  
It was Bridget. God, my sister has turned into one of those happy people. And I hate her for it. She asked me to be a bridesmaid with Shaza and Jude at her wedding. It's six months away- She wants June - how very trite! God, I need another bloody drink.  
  
12:15 p.m.  
Have now had 12 drinks. And, I think I'll have to blow up my radio. It's playing "All by Myself"  
  
12:16 p.m.  
I think I breaked it.  
I thinks Bess be a bit drunk.  
  
3:00 p.m.  
In my drunken stupor earlier, I forgot to mention a few things. I DID accomplish something in the last 14 hours.  
I've successfully taken a leave of absences. 3 weeks to myself. My old clients are doing fin and my afore mentioned new client will be given to - holding of breath- Jordan Davison (prick who turns youths into zombies - much like alcohol was done to me.)  
One more thing to be depressed about.  
  
January 6th Sunday  
2:15 a.m.  
I just woke up. In my bathroom.  
I think it's time for an emergency urban family meeting. Mission: to help Bess.  
God, this means I have to get up.  
Ah, well, none of them go to church anyhow. I'll call later.  
  
11:00 p.m. - Same day  
Yes, urban families are wonderful things. In the event of a crisis, the Urban Family is good for the following things:  
#1: Not being overly judgmental.  
#2: Being on one's side.  
#3: Dispensing perfectly reasonable advice.  
(All three are not included in my real family)  
#4: Being depressed with you.  
#5: Getting drunk with you.  
#6: Sobering up with you.  
#7: Being there for you, even on Sundays.  
All v. good qualities in an urban family.  
  
The Urban Family:  
  
Sean:  
Hair: Brown and short (buzzed 2 months ago)  
Eyes: Green  
Age 28  
Job: p.m.  
Character: p.m.  
  
Renee:  
Hair: Dark brown and below the shoulders  
Eyes: Brown  
Age: 27  
Job: p.m.  
Character: p.m.  
  
Eva:  
Hair: Red, short bob.  
Eyes: Blue  
Age: 28  
Job: Photographer - helps Sean when he can't find any more movie stars to spread rumors about  
Character: Likes to smoke and drink and also likes to try to stop doing each. She is also known for her diets. For a week, she ate nothing but gherkins. She was taken to the e.r.  
  
Kate:  
Hair: blonde  
Eyes: Blue  
Age: 30  
Job: Researcher for the news - she likes to leak information to Sean, but he can never use it for the so-called magazine.  
Character: She's drunk most of the time, doesn't give v. good advice, and is known for throwing herself at men with black hair and "cowboy butts." She's a typical Blondie.  
  
Clark:  
Hair: black (ha, ha!)  
Eyes: Blue  
Age: 29 1/2  
Job: N/A. We're not quite sure what he does, but he likes to write poetry. He is often referred to as "The Poet." Rumor has it that he has an enormous bank account. He surely does not show it, however.  
Character: Canadian-American living in Britain. Smart, nice, funny - basically perfect for Kate (though she's too drunk to notice the way he looks at her. It's v. sad.)  
  
Jo: (Call her Josephine and you'll find a steak knife in your back :))  
Hair: Black - v. long.  
Eyes: Also v. dark. (Has made some people call her the Devil's Wife. v. interesting.)  
Age: She won't tell us. :(  
Job: French waitress at an Italian restaurant in Britain. (I've found it's best not to ask about such things.)  
Character: Likes to jump anything male that moves and ahs a nice car. Although - she hasn't been seeing anyone for a while now. Interesting enough.  
  
And Finally:  
Mary-Anne:  
Hair: Brown and short.  
Eyes: Green  
Age: 28  
Job: English professor.  
Character: Health fanatic. She's the one with the best advice and the worst habits: falling in love with the WRONG men and not following her own advice.  
  
Today, we didn't accomplish much. Mary-Anne couldn't make it. So, we just got drunk and had taxis take us home. Ah- I'm fine with this. Being heartbroken and sober is a lot worse than being heartbroken and drunk.  
  
Bess Jones 


End file.
